


AC2014 [1-3]: I Can See a Better Time

by twotenths



Series: Mix It Up verse [2]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Advent Challenge 2014, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 19:22:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2703608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twotenths/pseuds/twotenths
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felipe spends Christmas in a Hungarian hospital with grey soup, Rob is forced to spend Christmas alone when the weather cancels his travel plans, they both resolve to have a better Christmas the next year.</p><p>Title from the lyrics of "Fairytale of New York"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Parts 1-3 of my F1 slash advent challenge! I will be writing drabbles until the 25th December, enjoy!
> 
> This mini chaptered fic is based in the Mixology verse, with parts one and two occurring before the main fic, and the third part afterwards.

It wasn’t in Felipe’s nature to be miserable. He was the sort of person that simply couldn’t be kept down for any significant length of time, always ready for the next adventure or challenge, with a cheery smile, well-honed stubbornness, and an intuitive nature that often got him trouble.

He did, however, have to admit that lying in a Hungarian hospital bed on the 25th of December with a misshapen skull was trying his chipper nature.

He was glad to be out of the ICU now; being isolated had made absolutely no difference to him whilst he was comatose, but he had been close to ripping the needles out of his arms through sheer boredom and lack of social interaction once he had come around. Of course, he couldn’t speak a word of Hungarian (which, he suspected, was the reason he ended up with bottle over his head-- _Never chat up someone bigger than you in a language you don’t understand_ would later become his greatest piece of advice-- but he couldn’t remember the incident properly so he couldn’t be sure) but having traipsed around Europe without the aid of the phrasebooks he had lost in Spain, he had become quite proficient in mime. It meant that he could sometimes get the young Frenchman on the bed opposite to crack a smile and huff a laugh, and made the nurses quite fond of him.

One of them had taken pity on him, the young guy so far away from home, and smuggled him a staff laptop to use for half an hour so he could Skype his family who simply couldn’t afford to fly out to him, instead using their money to help pay the rapidly mounting hospital bills. It had been nice to see them, even if his mother had been choking back tears for the duration of the call, his brother and father unusually sombre, and his sister eyeing his swollen head fearfully. He had been insistent his family celebrate Christmas without him—it had been the original plan, after all. But still, he felt his heart pang at the decorations hung in the background and the pile of presents under the tree. All in all, when he had hung up, he was distinctly lacking in Christmas cheer.

After the call, he withdrew into himself, an ominous black cloud hanging over his bed that made most of the staff give him a wide berth. They wanted to keep him in for another two weeks, but he really couldn’t afford to stay much longer than another couple of days—in addition to his financial woes, he had immigration on his back, now that he was close to exceeding his allowed period of stay for mainland Europe. As soon as he was fit to fly, he was off, though where to he wasn’t sure, as he was certain he couldn’t afford the fare to Brazil, and he couldn’t ask his family for any more money. Besides, he hadn’t finished his trip and didn’t want to go home. He sighed, slumping back on his pillows, glowering around the ward and sending a few nurses scurrying for cover, as though his bad mood were contagious.

The doors to the ward opened and the orderly bustled in, pushing the food trolley in front of her. Felipe perked up slightly, imagining the Christmas dinner his family would be having back at home, salivating at the thought of roast turkey, _couve a mineira,_ and his mother’s wonderfully moist chocolate cake. The meal he actually received was rather less than what Felipe had been hoping for; a grey, fishy soup with cold, stringy cabbage and rice. Apparently hospital food was hospital food wherever you were. He balled up his fists, trying to ward off the tears pricking at the corner of his eyes and the lump in his throat. He felt utterly dejected, miserable, and alone.

He looked up just in time to see his fellow foreigner, the young Frenchman opposite him, gaze in abject horror at the soup, a large chunk of fish falling off his spoon and splashing the broth down his front. As their eyes met, the dam burst and Felipe erupted with laughter, gasping and holding his sides, tears of mirth rolling down his face. Every time he caught his breath, he remembered the horrified look and collapsed with laughter all over again.

 _What a terrible Christmas,_ he thought to himself, hiccupping softly. _For sure next year I will have a better Christmas than this!_


	2. Chapter 2

Rob slammed the heel of his hand against the steering wheel in frustration, fiddling with the ignition as he prayed for the engine to turn over. The Saxo coughed and spluttered miserably, the engine whining loudly. He knew that sound only too well: there was no chance he was getting anywhere today.

It was his own fault, really. He hadn’t been paying attention in a meeting at work, and found himself volunteered (amongst his other colleagues with similarly limited attention spans) to work the week leading up to Christmas, covering the boss’ holiday that seemed to last until past new year. His parents always looked forward to December as it was the only time of the year they would be guaranteed to see Rob—Christmas lunch at his parents with his aunts, uncles, and cousins was something of a family tradition—so although they were disappointed he wouldn’t be up North until the night of Christmas Eve, his belated arrival would be eagerly anticipated. Although Rob felt he was a little old to enjoy hanging out with his cousins, who were now all surly teenagers, he had been counting down the days with growing excitement.

Until the sleet.

It started as drizzle, on the morning of the 24th, an unrelenting cold rain that looked mostly innocuous but could drench someone to the bone in a matter of minutes. By lunchtime, it was raining hard, hammering against the flimsy office windows, and barely half an hour later, the sleet had arrived. The wind that had steadily picked up throughout the day, caused the grey, icy slush to batter down diagonally, splattering the roads and pavement. Rob had a feeling then that he might be in for trouble, but he still had another 3 hours before he could leave. At 5pm, he hurried out of the building, gasping as some of the sleet found its way down his neck, before hurrying back to his flat and throwing his stuff in the back of his little Saxo who _really_ didn’t like to start in cold weather.

It was a lost cause. He grabbed his stuff again and hurried back to the flat, fishing out his laptop to see whether there was a train he could catch. His enquiry was met with a page of **DELAYED, CANCELLED, CANCELLED, CANCELLED, DELAYED, CANCELLED, ERROR.** The weather had (predictably) played havoc with Britain’s notoriously feeble train network; he was stuck in London. He called his parents to let them know the bad news, trying to block out the sounds of merry laughter and clinking of glasses in the background. His father sounded disappointed, but he was understanding, and he wished Rob a Merry Christmas. Just as he was passing the phone over to Rob’s mother, however, the call was disconnected, He looked down at his phone to see that he’d lost all signal, which happened sometimes when there was a storm. Angrily, he flung his phone at the wall, regretting it when the screen cracked, and threw himself furiously down on the sofa.

Once he had finished fuming and the rage had begun to ebb away, the reality of his situation dawned on him. He had never spent Christmas alone. He had been living under the assumption that he was going up to Middlesbrough and had therefore not been shopping, trying to eat what was left in his cupboards before he went away for the best part of a week. The shops would all be shutting by now and the weather was too foul to venture out in anyway. He padded into the kitchen and looked in the fridge, finding only the remnants of a block of cheese, a bottle of coke, and something squishy and horrible that Rob hadn’t had the nerve to clean out yet, out of fear it had been in there so long, it had gained sentience.

A rummage through his cupboards yielded little results until he came to the last one, and he groped around the back until he felt something round that didn’t feel like a tin or a jar. He pulled it out and gazed, dumbstruck, at the label: _Turkey Pot Noodle, the gift that keeps on giving!_ It was all some kind of horrible nightmare, a cruel joke, and for one long, awful moment, he thought he might cry. When his mouth fell open, it wasn’t a sob that escaped, but a loud, derisive snort, that became a chuckle, that became a howl of disbelieving laughter as he sank to the floor, clutching his pot noodle and laughing until his eyes were streaming. He laughed until he couldn’t breathe, the pot noodle rolling away from him and under the oven which only made him laugh louder. When his downstairs neighbour began banging on the ceiling, he sobered up, chortling softly as he retrieved his Christmas lunch and set it next to the kettle for the next day.

 _Fucking hell,_ he thought to himself, as he unwrapped the bottle of scotch he was going to give his Uncle, opening it and throwing himself on the sofa, _What a bloody awful Christmas this is. I’m going to have to make up for the abomination next year I guess .._


	3. Chapter 3

For the second time in as many years, Rob found himself alone on Christmas eve. Thankfully, however, he wasn’t sitting on the kitchen floor of his dingy flat in London, laughing hysterically at a pot noodle and contemplating on drinking his way through the festive period; instead, he was sitting in his (and Felipe’s) rather more stylish apartment just outside of Milan, frowning over some spreadsheets on his laptop and listening to an Italian audiobook. Only weeks after he had arrived in Italy with his confession of love, Felipe had been deemed ready to join Michael in the company’s flagship bar in Milan. He was still working underneath Michael on a technicality, but even the genius German himself admitted the enthusiastic Brazilian was keeping him on his toes, the pair of them pushing each other to create more and more creative cocktails. Not willing to lose Felipe again, Rob had agreed to move with him, and Felipe had got him a job with the business side of Scuderia. All in all, it had worked out quite well, which Rob was thankful for, as he had breezed into Italy without any real plan.

His Italian had been improving (even if his pronunciation had been tinged with Boro) but he thought it best to keep working at it, spending any of his alone time he could listening to Italian; on audiobooks, on the TV, on the radio, anything to get this new language to stick properly. He glanced up at the clock: nearly 1.30am. Felipe would be back soon, all staff had to work Christmas Eve (although it was now technically Christmas morning) as people came to celebrate at the most exclusive bar in Northern Italy, but he should get the next few days off to spend with Rob. He turned back to the spreadsheets, mouthing along absently with the recording, when a pair of freezing cold hands attacked his exposed neck.

“Fucking hell!” Rob yelped, the laptop falling to the floor as he jumped in shock.

Felipe laughed croakily, pulling off his jacket and many layers, hanging them up on the coat hooks. “Is cold outside!” he protested, “I wanted to warm my hands up!”

“Git,” Rob mumbled, shutting the laptop down and putting it on the table.

“Ahhh you cannot stay angry, is Christmas!” Felipe chided, bending down to press a kiss to Rob’s cheek, rubbing his cold face against his warm skin. “Why are you still awake?”

“I was preparing the turkey for tomorrow, then I got distracted by the spreadsheets and lost track of time,” Rob said, standing up and stretching. Felipe peered with trepidation into the kitchen which looked like it had been hit by a small hurricane. Cooking was not one of Rob’s strong suits. Rob noticed his wary glance, “Don’t even think about going in there, I’ve got it all under control, the turkey will be cooked to perfection by 11am.”

“Is already in?” Felipe asked, eyebrows knotting together in worry as he began to edge towards the kitchen.

“Yep, that’s what Nigella told me to do, stick it in overnight at a low heat.”

Felipe raised an eyebrow. “Who is this Nigella? The lady downstairs?”

Rob snorted, his face splitting into a wide grin, “No you twit, Nigella Lawson, the cook!”

“Ahh, see you are not so angry any more, hmm?” Felipe asked, sliding his arms around Rob’s waist, smiling lazily. “Maybe now you will say hello and kiss me?”

“Nope, still very annoyed at you for frightening the living daylights of me,” he said mock seriously, “You’ve been a very naughty boy and I expect all your presents will be coal when you unwrap them tomorrow. And besides, there isn’t any mistletoe.”

Felipe’s eyes lit up, as he stepped back from Rob grinning wickedly. “But there is some!” he said with a mischievous wink, unbuckling his belt and pushing down his trousers to reveal some festive boxers, bearing a picture of mistletoe with the caption “Kiss me under here!”

Laughing, Rob took Felipe’s hand and pulled him into the bedroom. “Daft git,” he murmured softly.

***

“Rob!”

He awoke with a start, heart hammering loudly as Felipe sat on his chest, thumping his arm impatiently.

“Whatimizit?” he moaned, groggily.

“Half past four, get up Rob, get up!”

Rob looked at him incredulously. “Why are you awake at half past four? Oh God, you’re one of those over the top Christmas people, I should have known,” he groaned, attempting to turn over but pinned to the bed by the other man’s weight.

Felipe shifted a little guiltily. “I might have got up to check on the turkey, give it another basting.”

Rob cracked an eye open, glaring at him blearily. “I knew you didn’t trust me to cook Christmas lunch!”

“You do not have a good track record,” Felipe snorted, shoving him in the shoulder, “You set pasta on fire!”

“Ugh, fine, I don’t care, just leave me alone and go back to sleep.”

“No Rob, you must get up!”

“Why?” he asked, exasperatedly, being dragged over to the window by Felipe.

“Look!”

It was snowing, and had been for quite some time, judging by the thick white blanket covering the street below, the white flakes drifting lazily past their window, illuminated by the street lights. At this time of night it was peaceful and quiet, a scene of frosty tranquillity below them. Felipe watched over the sight with a look of wonder in his eyes, his breath fogging up the window. Rob couldn’t help but be drawn in by the magic of it all.

“It’s beautiful,” he admitted, leaning against the windowsill.

“I have never seen anything like it!” Felipe said in wonderment.

Rob looked sideways at him, “Never seen snow before?”

He shook his head. “No. It is too warm to snow where I am from. I think maybe it might have snowed last year in Hungary but I was still in a coma. And then when I got to England it just rained.” He sighed, misting up the entire window pane.

It was 4.37, he was dead tired, and it was probably freezing outside, but that didn’t stop Rob from dragging Felipe away from the window, and start throwing warm clothes at him. “What are you doing?” Felipe asked, nonplussed.

“If you’re going to get your first taste of snow, it’s best to do it when no one else has been out already to ruin the snow.”

Felipe’s eyes lit up.

***

Less than 15 minutes later, they were dressed and ready, wrapped up in jackets, hats, gloves, and scarves. Rob pulled open the door to their apartment block and lead Felipe out. It was almost eerily quiet, the snow muffling the sounds around them as they plodded towards their local park, _Il Parco di Monza_. Felipe was vibrating with glee next to him, tip toeing through the snow as though he was trying not to ruin it, one hand clapped over his mouth to stop him laughing with excitement.

“Let’s stay close to the edge,” Rob said, peering into the darkness of the park, neither of them thinking to bring a torch, “Stay in the streetlight.”

Felipe gambolled away from him, ducking down to grab a handful of snow, and throwing it over his head, swallowing down a yelp of glee. “You know Michael will take me skiing next year?” he said, running around Rob.

He snorted with laughter. “A Brazilian on skis? I hope I’m invited, I wouldn’t want to miss that!”

Felipe’s response was to creep up behind him and dump armfuls of snow over his head, clamping a gloved hand over Rob’s mouth to muffle the startled yelp.

“You little git!” he whispered as Felipe sprinted away and he gave chase, “I’m going to get you for that!”

They had an intense and mostly silent snowball fight, the sounds of their breathy laughter deafeningly loud in the serene surroundings. Felipe was fast but had no appreciation for the art of making a perfect snowball, his disintegrating into harmless powder before they had a chance to reach Rob who was churning out tightly compacted snowballs at an alarming rate, nailing Felipe hard in the side of the head, making him curse and stagger sideways. Rob seized his opportunity and rushed at him, grabbing him around the middle and tackling him to the ground where they landed with a soft _whump_.

“ _Caralho!_ ” Felipe said, wriggling under the weight of Rob on top of him, trying and failing to look stern, “You are so heavy, get off! I’m cold!”

Rob pressed a kiss to the tip of his cold nose, and rolled off to lie next to him, staring up at the starry sky, chuckling.

“What are you doing?” Felipe asked Rob, who was waving his arms and legs around in the snow.

“Making a snow angel. You flap your arms and legs and when you get up it looks like an angel imprint in the snow, see?”

Felipe copied him, eyes scrunched up in concentration, then scrambled up to roll on top of Rob.

“You have to get _up,_ to see it, not on top of me!” Rob said fondly.

“I think is better here,” he replied, smiling and capturing Rob’s lips in his own. “Merry Christmas Rob.”

Rob smiled and tugged his hat down over his eyes. “Merry Christmas.”


End file.
